Overcoat
by AmayaSora
Summary: House and Wilson go for a walk. H/W pre-slash.


**A/N: Hello. *waves sheepishly* As you can probably tell, I haven't written any fanfic for **_**months**_**, and not in the House fandom for even longer. And I can't even explain that except for saying that I had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEAS. None at all.**

**BUT I am back now, with a brand new story! It's quite fluffy, too. Think of it as a Christmas present. Please enjoy. Comments would be unbelievably amazing.**

**Title: Overcoat **

**Pairing: HouseXWilson pre-slash **

**Rating: K **

**Word Count: 1407 **

**Summary: House and Wilson go on a walk. Fluff ensues. **

**Spoilers: Not really; slight Season 6.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House. But boy do I wish I did. I also make no profit off of this at all. Again, BOY do I wish I did.**

**-AmayaSora **

* * *

Overcoat

Every few steps, Wilson found himself glancing over at House. The man was setting an admirable pace, barreling along the sidewalk, the limp-step rhythm unbroken even when he sidestepped a patch of ice. Because, it was quite literally freezing outside, and here House was without a coat.

The only reason Wilson himself had a coat was because he had just stepped in the door after a long day of work. The door hadn't even managed to close before House wrenched it fully open and strode into the hallway.

Wilson blinked once, confused, before dropping his bag and hurrying after his friend. "Hello to you, too."

"Going for a walk," House muttered, concentrating on getting down the stairs in one piece.

"May I ask why?" The oncologist fell into step beside his friend, automatically matching his pace.

"Nolan said it might help with the pain." His hand tightened slightly on the cane, and his pace increased.

"And is it working?"

"Don't think so." Limp-step, limp-step. "I actually think he just suggested it to give me something to do to distract myself."

"Ah." A pause while the two parted as an oblivious shopper forced them to move to either side of her. "So you don't mind if I tag along?"

"Nope," House grunted, obviously focusing his attention on his leg despite the purpose of the exercise.

So Wilson had shut up, not knowing what, if anything, was appropriate to say, or how to successfully make House ignore the leg as best he could.

With each glance at his friend, however, Wilson's frown deepened. House was in quite a lot of pain, and the man _had_ to be freezing out here with nothing but the jeans, t-shirt and unbuttoned blazer he'd worn at the hospital. Sure enough, the next time Wilson surreptitiously looked over he saw House just as surreptitiously breathing into his cane-free hand, aiming for warmth.

Sighing loudly, Wilson removed his gloves and wordlessly handed them out to his friend. House eyed them but shook his head and kept walking. "Nice try, but no. Then your hands will be cold."

"I can put my hands in my pockets. You can't," Wilson persisted, tapping the gloves against House's arm.

After a second's pause, House abruptly stopped walking and accepted the gloves, gratefully slipping them over his hands. Just as abruptly, he resumed walking. "Since when do you wear Italian leather?"

"They were a gift."

"Really nice gift. One of your wives get them?"

"No. Cuddy, actually." The answer was followed by a rather awkward silence. Wilson coughed self-consciously, at which House raised an eyebrow.

"What? Afraid that'll upset me? I told you, I'm over it." House said, glancing at Wilson's face to show him he was being honest.

"Yeah, I know. Old habits die hard, I guess."

House made a non-committal sound and surged into the cross street in front of them. In spite of himself, Wilson glanced both ways before following the other doctor.

At this point, the oncologist was finding it really difficult not to comment on House's lack of a coat. Granted, pain made it hard to think clearly, but at some point basic instinct to get out of the cold had to override that. Then again, it _was_ House.

When Wilson literally could not hold it in any longer, he blurted "I'm freezing just looking at you!"

House shrugged and continued on. "I've experienced worse."

"Not when you could stop it! Can't we just go back home? Maybe a movie or something will distract you."

Quietly, House admitted, "The cold is numbing the pain a little."

Oh. Well, that changed things… still, it couldn't be healthy to be out in this cold for too long. Wilson rubbed his eyes, realizing he'd probably regret this, and shrugged off his own coat. "Here," he mumbled.

House firmly shook his head, but Wilson wasn't to be dissuaded. "Your leg will still be uncovered. No reason the rest of you has to suffer because-"

The diagnostician cut him off. "No. Then you'll get cold and cranky and I'll have to send you home for nappy time."

Which Wilson knew was Houseian for 'I don't want you to be uncomfortable.' So he shut up. Or tried to. He really tried, but in a few minutes he caught a shiver running up his friend's spine.

"For God's sake!" cried an exasperated Wilson, throwing half of the coat around House's shoulders while draping the other half around his own. "There. Now we're both equally cold."

House didn't say anything, but his expression threatened mutiny as soon as he came up with an appropriately biting remark. "No, no, no. Don't even try; it's not going to work."

House frowned, a little defeated, but otherwise did nothing. It was a bit awkward trying to accommodate House's cane under the coat, but Wilson was able to manage.

Eventually, when the silence was beginning to bug him, Wilson ventured, "Are you, er, feeling better?"

"Leg? No. Cold? Yes," House admitted grudgingly.

"That's good," supplied Wilson rather obviously. House rolled his eyes, which made Wilson smile softly. It meant that House was indeed doing at least a little bit better. "So what's going on with your patient?"

House scoffed. "If you can even call her that. It took me about two seconds to diagnose Epstein-Barr."

Wilson laughed. "Only you would jump right from-" He stopped in mid-sentence as a high, girlish laugh pierced the otherwise silent night air. It was coming from the young woman walking the opposite direction on the sidewalk, her red curls bouncing as she giggled at whatever her companion, a dark-haired man, was saying. Wilson thought that those two made a great couple. And wasn't it gallant of the guy to share his coat with her?

At that, a slow flush crept up Wilson's face and he pulled away, abandoning the coat.

"Hey!" House whined.

"House," said Wilson. "Is this arrangement here really, um, appropriate?"

"Why wouldn't it be? You were fine with it yourself just a minute ago." House stopped walking at turned to face Wilson head-on.

"Well, that was before- I-" Wilson lowered his voice, embarrassed. "People will think we're, you know, _together._"

"So let them! They're random strangers," House said at a rather louder volume than Wilson was comfortable with.

The oncologist spluttered for a moment, during which time House took up his furious limp-step pace again. After a few almost-running steps to catch up, Wilson finally said, "It doesn't bother you at all?"

"Why should it? What the idiot masses want to assume is their problem, not mine."

"Wouldn't you feel, I don't know, embarrassed? Even slightly self-conscious?"

"Nope. Like I said, not my problem. Besides, I've been called worse."

With that the two lapsed into silence again. This time, however, it was House who broke it. "I already said I wasn't going to let you give me the coat. So either get back under it or take it back."

The world's quickest bitter internal struggle went on in Wilson's head before he sighed resignedly and took up his half of the coat again. He did inch as far away from House as he could, though, and his cheeks never stopped burning.

An extremely awkward half-block later, House stopped abruptly yet again. "Want coffee?" he asked, gesturing to the shop on their left.

"Sure," said Wilson, leaving the coat with House and stepping over to open the door.

"You're buying," House clarified as he limped inside.

"Of course I am," Wilson replied with a roll of his eyes, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

The night was a really enjoyable one, all things considered. The coffee was actually decent, House seemed to have gone from 'agony' to his usual level of pain, and the banter and jokes flowed smoothly. The walk home was even nice; Wilson didn't have to worry about the coat-sharing anymore, because when House had emerged from the bathroom he had a sturdy pea coat draped over his arm and a smirk on his face.

---0---

The next day when Wilson pulled up in front of the apartment, he was pleasantly surprised to see House waiting for him. Without preamble, the diagnostician heaved himself off of the step and took up his limp-step pace. "You coming?" he called over his shoulder. Wilson hurried to catch up.

It wasn't until they had gone nearly two blocks when Wilson noticed. "House, where's your coat?"


End file.
